Convalescence of Darkness
by Askyroth
Summary: Near the breaking point Harry disappears from the wizarding world for three years. When he returns with the knowledge that had been kept from him he is no longer the scared little boy the world thought it knew. Slash HPLV may be others Dark Harry.
1. In Which the Sun Begins to Set

Convalescence of Darkness

_Disclaimer: Alas, I am not J.K. Rowling and do not own anything you recognize. It certainly would not, Poor College student that I am, be worth suing me for finding her work irresistible, when this is a non-profit endeavor._

_Warnings: This Fic will involve a Dark Harry, not evil, dark. It will be slash and most probably OOC. If you don't like it, flee now. I cannot bring myself to write anything less._

_Rating: Quite honestly, I haven't a clue. I marked it M, so that my imagination may have free and unrestricted reign and I need not worry about picky censors._

_Summary: Near the breaking point, Harry disappears from the wizarding world for three years. When he returns with the knowledge that had been kept from him, he is no longer the scared little boy the world thought it knew. Slash HP/LV may be others, Dark Harry._

"Speech"

-Parseltongue-

_Thoughts_

Convalescence of Darkness

Chapter 1

In Which the Sun Begins to Set

Shattered, that was the only way to describe what was left of the castle. The remains of what had once been beautifully carved doors lay straight before them, the crumbling archway around them blackened and scorched by the power of the blast that had forced them open. Beyond them was nothing but rubble, a mountain of stone and timber, slowly beginning to crumble into dust.

Three figures stood before it, silhouettes against the twilight of the coming night. Each lost in their own dire thoughts, trying to overcome the shock at the scene before them.

It had been beautiful once, more a palace than a castle. Elegant halls and beautiful, spacious chambers connected by winding passages. One might have mistaken it for a museum, for all the artwork that was present. No matter the artist, both muggle and wizard pieces were present. A few of the more delicate pieces it was whispered, had been created by the elves. This was of course true, though not many would believe it.

The elves long ago went into hiding, fleeing from a world of thinly veiled hatred and corruption. Some believe them to have died off, others say that they were only a myth to begin with. No matter now, the works are beautiful no longer, they sit and rot nothing more than a decaying pile of rubbish.

"We have to reach him. He needs me."

The soft whisper, even muffled by the cloth that hid his companion's face, drew the taller man from his bitter musings. He berated himself for not paying attention. _This is no time for reminiscence. He needs your help and yet you sit here, crying over lost trinkets. Daydreaming can get you killed. _

He turned to the pair beside him. They were nearly unrecognizable from the hopeless creatures he had found lost and afraid so long ago. The quiet young man and the ragged wolf finally free of the chains of manipulation. _They are so much stronger than I could have dreamed._ When he first found them he thought they might never recover. There was nothing now that he didn't believe them capable of.

"Where do you think they're keeping him?"

"They're not."

He looked at the young man in surprise. The seal on the blood mage's magic prevented direct communication through the bond. And yet he seemed so sure.

"How do you know?"

"The seal remains intact. If they'd caught him they either would have killed him outright or locked him in away under a permanent magic dampening ward. They would not waste the energy it takes to maintain such a complex seal. That is," he finished sardonically, "unless you actually believe they're maintaining it for the peace of mind of a runaway savior."

Syraen was right, maintaining the seal on an un-bonded wizard of such strength would require three experienced wizards to remain in a magical trance at all times. They would need to pour their energies into it to counteract the deteriorating effect the victims own magic would have. With a bonded wizard it would require either the cooperation of the other bonded or a far greater force in order to stand up to assault on two fronts rather than just one. They would not want to hold the seal in place any longer than they absolutely must.

"Do you think they let him go then?"

He didn't bother to try and conceal his confusion, the castle had been destroyed a little over a year ago in what was meant to be the final strike of the war. The man they were looking for was the primary target of the assault, with his magic sealed as it was, he shouldn't have been able to survive no less escape.

"No."

"Then?..."

He let the question hang knowing that it would be understood. _Perhaps he portkeyed away when the attack came? No, they seal on his magic wouldn't have allowed the portkey to acknowledge his existence. If he found a way to tamper with the seal then… but no, Syraen would have felt any change through the bond._

He studied his companions as he thought. _They seem so calm, hiding their emotions behind serene masks. Even I can't read them anymore. _It was true, the only outward sign of distress was the way the young mans hand was clenched in the thick tawny fur at the ruff of the wolf's neck. The casual observer would think that the situation caused no more worry than a spilled glass of water.

"I really don't know. Something very nearly destroyed him in the attack. If I hadn't already learned to accept our bond I don't think even it would have had the strength to save him The bond may have held him in this world but he is little more than a broken shell. Something must have intervened and gotten him to safety somehow. He wouldn't have had the strength to save himself."

"I was hoping that coming here would give us a better idea of what happened. All it's done is increase my resolve to reward the person loyal enough to get him out of there."

While neither his stance, nor his voice, betrayed anything other than a relaxed sort of apathy, his companions knew that his heart must be nearly in shreds. They had been at his side day after day training together, waiting. Waiting for the day that that he could return and aid his blood mage. For the day that they could begin to restore balance to the world. They if any had learned what lay behind his masks. Had found their way through the barriers around his heart.

A low whine drew his attention as the wolf butted his companion with its head in an attempt to comfort the younger man. As he watched Syraen sank down despondently to kneel beside the Remus, taking his gaze from the rubble for the first time since they had arrived, only to stare searchingly into the sky.

Lyzair worriedly watched his companions. Syraen hadn't acted so defeated in a long time. It had seemed to take an eternity after he had found the wolf and boy lying broken in the forest before he could get either of them to open up even a little. Slowly they had come to trust each other and he learned of the horrors that that had driven Syraen nearly to the point of self destruction even with Remus, his last and only loyal friend, at his side keeping him together.

He had worked tirelessly to dispel the lies dominating their lives and undo that damage inflicted upon them both. He taught them how to unlock and control their abilities many of which they hadn't known existed. In the last three years they had each gone from feeling like they would always be alone to becoming closer than they ever could have imagined. They swore an oath of brotherhood before they set out. He would be the support his brothers needed. Even if it killed him.

"Wherever he is we'll find him, we won't give up."

" I should know Zai, I should know where he is. I know that he's alive and in pain and nothing else. The fact that I don't know, when I should, worries me more than anything."

Finally Lyzair understood the true extent of his distress. _Such a fine Line. _When he was very young, Syraen had been bonded to Lyzair's heir by a spell gone awry and no matter what anyone had tried, they could neither figure out what caused the bond, nor how to break it. Even the seal could only block direct communication between the two. If Syraen could not find the blood mage through their bond, he was very well hidden indeed. For good or for ill however, was yet to be seen. They needed him, he could not be replaced. _Without him, Syraen will fall apart and all of our plans will be tossed into the abyss_.

Syraen stood the wolf instantly falling into place by his side. Looking at his companions he made a decision, the confusion that had plagued him only a moment earlier replaced by unyielding resolve.

"We're going to the watchtower."

"Are you sure?"

Lyzair asked taking his place at his brothers side knowing that a forgotten color was about to be reworked into the threads of fate.

"Yes" Syraen's voice was firm. He was finally sure. It was time to seal the covenant and he would not look back.

_Authors Note: And so my very first Fic is re-born. I now know why I swore I'd never have children. I thank everyone that has deigned to read this and will welcome all reviewers, even those that declare it a horrible monster, although I much prefer constructive guidance. Also I am looking for a godparent. So if anyone would like to be my beta, please let me know. My sincerest apologies to those poor souls who are trying to put up with me._

_Posted January 14th 2005_

_Updated January 27th 2005 – To correct errors and revise._

_Re-written November 16th 2005 – I've never been happy with my first version of anything why should this be the exception._

_Re-posted – February 6th 2007 - Finally _

_Names Changed - July 31, 2010 (Tired of my fidgeting yet?)_


	2. In Which the Masks Begin to Crack

Convalescence of Darkness

_Disclaimer: Alas, I am not J.K. Rowling and do not own anything you recognize. It certainly would not, Poor College student that I am, be worth suing me for finding her work irresistible, when this is a non-profit endeavor._

_Warnings: This Fic will involve a Dark Harry, not evil, dark. It will be slash and most probably OOC. If you don't like it, flee now. I cannot bring myself to write anything less._

_Rating: Quite honestly, I haven't a clue. I marked it R, so that my imagination may have free and unrestricted reign and I need not worry about picky censors._

_Summary: Near the breaking point, Harry disappears from the wizarding world for three years. When he returns with the knowledge that had been kept from him, he is no longer the scared little boy the world thought it knew. Slash HP/LV may be others, Dark Harry._

"Speech"

Thoughts

(Parseltongue)

Convalescence of Darkness

Chapter Two

In Which the Masks Begin to Crack

With the doors of the watchtower looming before him, Syraen Black, formerly believed to be Harry Potter, thought back on all the things that had brought him to this point. Oddly enough, he started to smile. He marveled at how easily all his doubts faded away, the moment he was given reason to believe.

The first hint that something was amiss, came in potions. The potion that they were to brew was a fairly simple potion called the heraldry potion. It was designed to inscribe your family crest upon any inanimate object that it touched. Unfortunately, this included potion equipment and anything that it was accidentally spilled on. An agent to remove it had, at some point, been invented but it could still be quite inconvenient.

Harry had been looking forward to the class for a week. A week in which Ron had scowled and grumbled incessantly, muttering under his breath about betrayal and corruptive greasy bastards. To his mind, no one should ever be excited about potions. Even Hermione, who was just as curious to see the results, was a bit surprised at his enthusiasm. He couldn't help it. It would be the first time he would get to see the Potter family crest. He didn't think even Snape could upset him.

He smiled as he added three drops of his blood to the potion, it was the final ingredient. Stirring once counterclockwise, Harry sighed and left it alone. It had to simmer for three minutes before he could take it off the heat and so he waited. Those last, endless minuets seemed to drag on for hours before the crest finally took shape on the side of his cauldron. When it did, the giddiness that he had been feeling only moments before vanished. While he didn't truly know what he had been expecting, he knew without a doubt, that this was not it.

He had imagined that it would be something with a noble animal, he had hoped for a stag like his father but thought, that with the natural affinity for flying that was so common in Potter's, it would likely be some sort of bird. Certainly he was expecting something bright, with the red or gold of Gryffindor or perhaps even white or blue. Privately he had prayed that it wasn't white, he had always loathed the color and didn't know why. Most probably, it was too much time maintaining Aunt Petunia's exacting standards of cleanliness. His frequent trips to the infirmary certainly hadn't helped either. Definitely it should be something strong, something that would show the Potter's to be true supporters of the light. What he saw before him was none of those things.

He saw instead, a scene that positively screamed Dark. Foremost there was a black tree edged in silver, one of the sort that you might see on a muggle television around Halloween. Set on a background of deep amethyst, it had an odd sort of elegance to it that drew the eye. At the base of the tree, seemingly guarding it, was an emerald green snake with red eyes. Scrolled delicately around the edge, were eerily flowing silver markings, which looked like some type of old writing. When he looked at them, at the crest, it felt like he had stumbled into a barrier. There was a searing pain in his mind, the same as he felt every time he was near Voldemort, like a gapping rip in the very fabric of his soul. Reluctantly, despite the pain it caused him, he tore his eyes away from the damning image. The dark manifestation of his own blood it called to him, a fascination, a truth he found nearly impossible to resist.

Finally, he once again noticed the world around him. The dank chill of the dungeons, the unsavory aroma of badly brewed potions and foul ingredients, the inane hushed chatter of his peers, all hoping not to draw the attention of the potions master lurking at the front of the classroom, yet unwilling to shut up. The very act of defying the man's demands for silence appeared to ease their nervousness at the thought of facing his wrath. It was strange, while everything around him was how he expected it to be it seemed as if somehow, everything was out of focus, almost like a mild case of double vision.

Now more than a little shaken, Harry put his aching head in his hands to think. He knew instantly in the deepest and most intangible levels of his soul, that that darkest of images would eternally be the only crest he would ever, with any degree of honesty, be able to call his own. At the same time, it presented an image irreconcilable with the potter name. Growling in frustration, he poured the accursed potion into a vial, studiously avoiding eye contact with both the crest on the cauldron and the copy forming on the vial held, if somewhat shakily, in his hand. Perhaps it had something to do with his connection to Voldemort or perhaps, more of his past was being kept from him than he thought. He was getting very tired of others knowing more about him than he did.

Knowing that sitting there would not get him the answers he sought and that he was just postponing the inevitable, he cleaned up his supplies and stood. As he did so, he tried to arm himself mentally against the confrontation he knew as coming. Snape, always the malevolent bat, never could resist tormenting him at every opportunity. Such a dark crest would be just the sort of thing the man would take the most pleasure in holding against "Gryffindor's Golden Boy."

Worse yet, was the fact that the snarky bastard would undoubtedly go straight to Dumbledore, who would then have time to prepare a response, likely one meant to appease, while not necessarily saying anything substantial. While the headmaster had promised not to keep things from him, Harry had no way of knowing whether or not the old man was keeping his word. Sending him back to the Dursleys yet again, had not served to better his opinion of the old man. Nor had the attempt made at punishing Remus increased his trust in the least. If he wanted the truth, he was going to have to find it himself. He could not trust others to give it to him.

A small part of him was grinning inside as he forced himself to walk up to the professor's desk and hand over the vial to be graded. The part of him that had blocked-out the dark thoughts flooding the rest of his mind. It was cheering his success in brewing the troublesome potion. In order to show that much detail, his potion must have been nearly perfect, even if the result wasn't what he had expected. That small voice too fell silent, when he saw the malicious look in his professor's eyes. This encounter was going to be far worse than usual. He almost hoped Neville would blow something up, if only as a distraction.

"It seems Mr. Potter, that you have once again ignored my instructions. Not, that I expected anything less from you. I specifically said, that you were to use three drops of your own blood in this assignment and yet I see that you were either too squeamish or simply believed you were above the rest of us and have not. Perhaps, it is that you are simply ashamed of that arrogant fool you call a father and do not wish to carry his name."

By this time, Harry was seething. That he knew Snape was trying to goad him into a reaction helped very little, the words still hurt and trying to contradict the man would only make it worse. Harry was not about to give the evil git that satisfaction.

"I would be interested to know, where you got the blood required for the creation of the Black family crest. However, I very much doubt that any word out of your mouth contains a single iota of the truth."

The Black crest? Harry's mind was reeling unable to make sense of it. What did that mean? How was it possible. _Later_ he told himself later he would worry about it for now he just wanted to get out of the classroom and away from Snape. Away from everyone for a while.

Seeing the defiance and anger burning in his eyes, Snape smirked and continued to push him. It had become almost a game, seeing what it took to make Harry lose his temper. It wasn't hard, the Gryffindor had absolutely no restraint. He wasn't allowed to. The boy still appeared distressingly calm, the comment about his father would usually have been enough to make him lose his temper, getting annoyed the greasy professor changed tactics, deciding to end it.

"That mutt would be pleased no doubt, to know that even in death, he is still a nuisance. Never the less, detention I believe is in order. Mr. Filch has been complaining that the trophy cases received an unseemly layer of dust during the break. He will be pleased I should think, to see them restored. It is fitting don't you think, that you should spend hours, laboring to clean grime from a shrine to glory seeking fools such as yourself. I will inform him to expect you there tonight after dinner."

Taking that as a dismissal and not really caring if it wasn't, Harry turned and walked out of the room anger, confusion and pain swirling through his mind.. He was so frustrated that he didn't notice the feeling of power crackling in the air around him. He didn't notice the way people shied away from him, afraid or simply not willing to get in his way. He didn't even notice the split second in which Snape looked after him in shock before regaining his usual scowl. How had the boy not lost his temper. He shouldn't have been able to maintain that level of composure.

That evening found Harry out on the quidditch pitch, his Firebolt beside him. Hours of flying had allowed him to get himself under control his confusion set aside for the moment he could still feel the rage, simmering at the edges of his consciousness. The pain never faded the crest had left it behind like a net of fire tangled around his mind.

It was getting dark and he knew that dinner would be nearly over by now and he should be heading in for his detention. He didn't care, at least this way he would be earning his punishment. He wasn't surprised that nobody had come looking for him when he hadn't turned up for charms. His friends were probably too wrapped up in each other to notice anyway.

Lying on his back starring up at the sky he sighed and put his hands under his head. As the weight of his head came to rest on his hands a sharp pain drew his attention, he rolled over glaring at the tiny cut on his palm. It had broken open, dark blood welling up glistening sharply in the dying light, a reminder of the day's catastrophe.

What was it Snape had said about the Black family crest? How? He had used his own blood, the cut was proof of that and as much as he loved Sirius, he most certainly didn't have vials of the man's blood stored away to use in potions experiments. Snape, if he weren't so biased and actually pulled his head out of his ass, might have realized that as well, but no, he simply had to think that anything Harry did was solely for the purpose of pissing him off. It gave him no right to say the things he had about Sirius or Harry's father. Regardless of what they had done to him in their youth, he should have grown up and gotten over it a long time ago. He should not, especially as a professor, take his vengeance out on a student.

Rage once again ready to erupt, Harry could think of only one thing, he needed to talk to Remus.

After Sirius had fallen through the veil, Harry had locked himself away. He worked past the point of exhaustion each day, struggling to finish the ridiculous list of chores the Dursleys had given him. He didn't want to think. Refused to rest., to sleep. Sleep meant dreams and his were nightmares. Twisted memories and fears brought to life by his imagination. They were slowly driving him insane. He didn't care that "Uncle" Vernon's reaction to the order's threat was to make the beatings, which had once been something of a weekly occurrence, a daily ritual. Nor did he care that the only food he was allowed, was the occasional stale piece of bread his aunt threw at him and the water he was able to sneak from the bathroom faucet. There wasn't enough left of him to care. If it weren't for the guards the order had set outside the house, he would have run, left the magical world behind him protection wards be damned. None of it mattered to him anymore.

Remus had shown up at the Dursley's a couple weeks into the summer holiday despite the order's decision that he have no outside contact. "He needs some time alone to sort things out." Upon seeing the state he was in, Remus had stunned the guards the order had on watch and they had fled privet drive. He wouldn't have made it much longer on his own. They spent the rest of the summer together just barely managing to keep ahead of their pursuers. Each taking solace in the other's presence. The werewolf had chosen his side. Harry was the last of those he considered family. He would stand by him until the end.

_Authors Note: Argh! I have so many different bits and pieces that I want to throw into this Fic, that I'm having a dreadful time keeping them in any sort of order. I'm working on the third chapter, which will hopefully, explain the relationship between Harry and Remus. I'll post it as soon as possible, don't abandon me yet._

_Posted January 15 2005 – My apologies to those poor readers who suffered through the first posting and the horrible cliffhanger. That was supremely awful of me and I have since, reworked the entire first section of this deity forsaken Fic._

_Updated - March 13 2007 –To correct errors and revise (talk about the understatement of the century)_

_Names Changed and Minor Editing – July 31, 2010 (Tired of my fidgeting yet?)_


	3. In Which the Value of Disobedience is

Convalescence of Darkness

_Disclaimer: Alas, I am not J.K. Rowling and do not own anything you recognize. It certainly would not, Poor College student that I am, be worth suing me for finding her work irresistible, when this is a non-profit endeavor._

_Warnings: This Fic will involve a Dark Harry, not evil, dark. It will be slash and most probably OOC. If you don't like it, flee now. I cannot bring myself to write anything less._

_Rating: Quite honestly, I haven't a clue. I marked it M, so that my imagination may have free and unrestricted reign and I need not worry about picky censors._

_Summary: Near the breaking point, Harry disappears from the wizarding world for three years. When he returns with the knowledge that had been kept from him, he is no longer the scared little boy the world though it knew. Slash HP/LV may be others Dark Harry._

"Speech"

Thoughts

(Parseltongue)

Convalescence of Darkness

Chapter 3

In Which the Value of Disobedience is Appreciated

The werewolf was the only one he trusted not to deceive him. When his former professor had first arrived on the Dursleys doorstep two weeks into the summer, Harry was afraid that he was going to be forced to suffer through yet another "Don't let the muggles get you down" speech where he was told precisely nothing and ordered to stay put.

Remus however, said nothing of the sort. After stepping through the door and taking one look at him, the man had wrapped Harry in a hug, drawing back instantly at his pained gasp. He had been trying to hide his injuries but the strength of the werewolf's unexpected hug had been met by adamant protest from his ribs. He was sure at least one of them was broken and thought several others were probably cracked. At least his uncle the rhinoceros and his whale of a cousin hadn't broken the skin. He would never have been able to hide the smell of the blood.

"Harry what's wrong? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine Professor just a bit sore from gardening, nothing to worry about. What are you doing here? Didn't the Order receive my last note?"

"I wanted to see how you were. I thought you might need somebody to talk to after everything that's happened. And I'm not your professor anymore it's Remus or Moony. As the son of a marauder you should feel free to use our nicknames. I know that the first time you used Padfoot's he celebrated by pranking Severus."

The wicked smirk on his former professors face surprised him. Harry had known at least on an intellectual level that the Remus who taught them during his third year was the same one that featured so prominently in all of Sirius's stories, but it never really sunk in. This was the first time that he truly believed that the man had it in him to be one of the infamous pranksters.

The smirk was startled off of Remus' face when a sudden coughing fit racked the teens body and Harry, realizing that his facade of well being had been shattered, let himself collapse to the floor. The blood on his hand a testament to the punctured lung he hadn't known he had. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was an expression of horror on the ragged marauder's face.

The by now, terrified werewolf cautiously picked the boy up not wanting to cause anymore damage than had already been done. Racing into the living room he laid the broken teen on the couch he didn't want to believe what he was seeing. It was, Remus had realized when he picked Harry up, only too obvious how painfully thin he was. He was sure that if he were to check he would find that the ridiculous hand me downs Harry was swimming were hiding bruises. He wondered why Harry hadn't reported it. Why no one had noticed anything.

Thinking about the letters the Order had received from him Remus realized that perhaps Harry had said something. Short as they were they always mentioned that there was nothing new happening and that the Dursleys were ignoring him for the most part. Ignoring him appeared to include ignoring his need for food and his health. "Nothing new"? How long had this been going on? If Dumbledore knew about this and was neglecting to do anything...

A pained moan from the couch reminded Remus that he didn't have time to sit around and think. The most important thing now was to take care of Harry. He would deal with the consequences later.

"I'm going to get you out of here pup. I'll be damned if I let those muggles anywhere near you after this."

Casting a disillusionment charm on himself Remus slipped outside ignoring the awful sensation as it took effect. Luck was with him and he was both thankful and angry that someone had put the twins on watch together. They were too busy arguing about some new product for their joke shop to notice him sneaking up behind them. As he stunned them he wondered at the lack of care taken with the watch that was supposed to be keeping Harry safe. He doubted they had even noticed his arrival earlier.

Rushing back to the house Remus wondered where he could take the savior of the wizarding that he would be safe. He didn't trust Dumbledore right now and he had been living in Grimauld place since the incident with Sirius in Harry's third year, so he couldn't just take him home. The wards were excellent but he didn't want to expose harry to that. There was really only one place he could think of. He just hoped that the people there would hear him out before they over-reacted at the sight of an outsider. They took their code of secrecy very seriously. If it weren't such a desperate situation the werewolf wouldn't even be considering it.

"You'd better have a very good reason for bringing him here Moony."

Resisting the urge to flinch, Remus looked at the woman in front of him. He wasn't deceived by the familiar nickname or her casual stance. She was angry. Very angry. And when Aisling got angry people tended not to come away unscathed. Meeting her gaze Remus was glad nonetheless that it was her, and not Finbar there to meet them. She at least would hear him out before passing judgment.

"I do." He replied honestly and without hesitation.

Remus was worried about the state his pup was in, but knew that the time it took for him to explain wasn't going to make too great a difference in the end. As long as Harry didn't come to further harm his magic would keep him stable. Aisling was an excellent healer, but she didn't know Harry. Remus needed to convince her to give the boy a chance to prove his worth before anything would be done. She had been one of his best friends for years and he trusted her with his life. Now he was trusting her with Harry.

The Marauder spent the next hour telling her everything from what was going on within the order, to the status of the war, to what had happened when he arrived on privet drive today. He told her of his reasons for distrusting Dumbledore and suspicions about what had happened to Harry. Upon checking they found that Harry did not have bruises, he was covered in them. Remus could not resist an angry growl and saw the flash of rage in the normally calm amber eyes of his companion at the number of bones they suspected were broken. Remus told her about his relationship with Harry, part of which she already knew from their correspondence throughout the years. He told her about how easily Harry had accepted the fact that he was a werewolf and how little attention the teen paid the prejudices held by of most of the wizarding world. He had no doubt that Harry would have very little problem fitting in here and absolutely none with keeping their secrets and told her as much.

When he finally finished he sat back and watched as she thought over what she had been told. Taking the time to study her he noted few changes in the years since he had last seen her. The thin scar now present on her left cheek being the most noticeable. She didn't even appear to have aged. Still tiny and delicate looking, she was much like the Fae she so strongly believed in. Like them as well she was not to be underestimated. She was far stronger and more dangerous than she appeared. Her dark wavy hair was held back by a lose braid its ends just touching her belt. Several strands had come lose to fall around her face a contrast to her pale skin. She didn't see the sun often, the night having long been her favorite time of day. She was, he knew, beautiful but that had never affected him. She really just wasn't his type which was safer in this case hitting on her in any fashion was something like hitting on a dragon. Either she'd ignore you, or you'd wish she had.

She was dressed practically for fighting in leather trousers, a loose shirt, and knee high boots all black as was her habit. Her rapier was, as always, present at her side. He knew that that wasn't her only weapon though he couldn't see the rest. She was sure to have several throwing knives and goddess only knew what else concealed somewhere. Remus could tell that she was angry, he could also tell that her anger was not directed at him but elsewhere. After a few minutes she nodded.

"I'm making him your responsibility." she said at last "I trust you, and so I'll wait to see what happens when he awakes. We'll take him up to the infirmary so I can get him patched up. You know the rules of the house and you know our code. If he wants to stay I expect him to learn. If he causes problems I am NOT going to be happy with either of you. No matter how much I like you, I will banish you both. I cannot risk our safety over this."

Remus sighed in relief. He had expected worse and had no problems with the terms she set.

"Thank you" he told her sincerely.

Gathering Harry carefully in his arms he followed her up thee stairs. He and his pup had a safe place to stay. That alone was a huge burden off his shoulders. Based on the way she had reacted to what he had told her the marauder beleived that Aisling would be more than willing to help them figure the this mess out once Harry woke up. She was only stern and unyielding where the safety of her adopted family was involved. Once she realized that Harry was not a threat she was going to be seriously pissed at what had happened to him. Abuse of any kind did not go over well with Aisling. For now all of that could wait for a bit, this was a time for healing.

_Authors Note:Yay! I finally got back around to writing this. I will finish it I'm just hoping that it's not going to take me ten years to do so. My thanks again to those poor souls who are trying to put up with me. This actually didn't get as far into the storyline as I wanted but as with all unruly children it keeps picking things up and growing in new and unexpected ways. By the way Aisling is pronounced as ash-ling her name is Gaelic as is Finbar's so they're bound to sound a little odd._

_Posted February 9th 2007_

_Edited July 31__st __2010_


End file.
